Ready, Set, Go!
by Hikari Kaitou
Summary: Sweden and Germany, proud nations though they may be, are not above having fun and perhaps causing a little mischief in the process.


**A/N: **I've been wanting a Germany and Sweden friendship fic for soooo long, but it seems that I had to write it myself. Ah well, at least I got it done at last. Kink meme deanon. The prompt was "Nations having fun, doing best friend kind of activities in places they shouldn't and getting chased/in trouble for it. I want bro moments. All pairings/friendships and any time period accepted; rare pair friendship moments are a plus."

* * *

"Very well. I believe we've discussed everything on the agenda for today," Germany said in a business-like tone, shuffling his papers into a pile. "I move to adjourn this meeting."

"Mm," Sweden agreed.

Sweden stood from his chair, casting one last glance around the meeting room as he gathered his belongings. He had visited the Royal Swedish Embassy of Berlin many times since it had been built, but he couldn't help being proud of it every time. It was a rather sleek bit of architecture if he did say so himself, a stylish and modern-looking construction of marble, polished wood, and glass.

It was a fairly spacious building, though it was normally not especially crowded, and every time Sweden went there, he felt the urge to put all that empty space to good use. Normally, he suppressed that urge, but this evening was different. Sweden was going to satisfy his desires at last. His heart rate had already picked up in anticipation.

Germany, who had finished getting his things together, glanced sideways at Sweden, clutching at the neatly folded suit jacket in his arms with fidgeting fingers.

"Y' ready?" Sweden asked. Only those who knew him well would probably notice, but there was an excited twinkle in his cool blue eyes that had nothing to do with the way the light was reflecting in his glasses.

"Yes," Germany agreed, giving him a small smile. "Would you think of me as childish if I were to confess that I've been looking forward to this all week?"

"Nah, I've been lookin' forward to it, too," Sweden admitted, his lips quirking upwards slightly at the corners.

"Honestly, I'm a bit surprised that it's taken us this long to get around to something like this," Germany said, following Sweden out of the conference room. "All this open space is practically begging to be put to use, and what with our interests dovetailing so perfectly…"

"Mm. Been meanin' to ask y' if y' wan'ed to fer a while now," Sweden replied, leading the younger man to the security surveillance room. "Jus' kept fergittin'."

"So how is this going to work?" Germany asked, sounding slightly apprehensive. "Were you planning to create some sort of diversion in order to draw the guard out of the surveillance room, or…?"

"We don' have t' go that far," Sweden assured him. "Erik's on duty 'n he's not the tattlin' type s' long as we're not doin' anythin' dang'rous. Not sure what 'mbassador Carlsson'd say 'bout it though…"

"It would probably be best to avoid him if possible, then," Germany suggested.

"Shouldn't be too hard," Sweden said. "'M pretty sure he's 'n a meetin' t'day on th' third floor 'ntil four."

"Very good," Germany replied, reaching into his briefcase slowly. "Are you ready?"

"Born ready," Sweden grunted, reaching into his briefcase as well.

The two of them met each other's gazes for a moment before removing the items they had grasped in their briefcases at the same time. Both men's hands emerged holding a small remote controlled toy car.

"Hmph," Germany said amusedly as he looked over Sweden's little car. "Flashy as ever."

Sweden shrugged, unperturbed by Germany's teasing critique. He knew the metallic gold plating, glasses-shaped windshield, SWDN#1 license plate, and drippy little black paw print on the side (which Finland had put there, dipping Hana Tamago's paw in some paint) might not be hailed as having a subtle, mature aesthetic, but Finland had designed it (with his input) and Sweden had built it. It was a product of their love, and in his mind, this trumped having a sleek visage. Now that he got a look at Germany's car, though, he couldn't help releasing a quiet snort of laughter.

"Seems t' me you're hardly in any p'sition t' comment on other people's flashy d'signs," he pointed out.

Germany's cheeks reddened slightly as he looked down at his own car. He'd been rather proud of his little toy, modeled after the Volkswagen Golf and painted a sporty red and black, but when he'd gone to put it in his bag this morning before the meeting, he found that the most peculiar transformation had come over it. It was no longer red and black, simple, practical, and stylish, but black and white, with eagle wings painted on the sides.

Germany supposed he could have dealt with that if it hadn't been for the rubber chicken head mounted to the windshield, sporting a sparkly plastic princess tiara. The words "Prussia rules" had been scrawled across the back in messy lettering, and the exhaust pipe had a little green fart cloud painted over it. In horror, Germany had attempted to at least remove the chicken's head, but had found that it had been attached so well that it was impossible to get it off without removing the entire windshield and hood of the car.

"Yes, well… I know I ought to have learned by now to be careful where I leave my belongings with an older brother like mine as a roommate, but clearly I must be a slower learner than I give myself credit for," he grumbled. "Assuming he didn't also tamper with its inner workings, I'm still confident in its racing abilities, despite how ridiculous it looks."

"S'ppose we'll just hafta see," Sweden said.

The two of them set their cars down on the threshold of the meeting room door, using it as their starting line.

"To th' big blue vase on th' first floor," Sweden said. "'N' just so ya know, I don't plan on losin'."

Germany matched Sweden's competitive little smirk with one of this own. "I'll have you eating those words when I win."

Both cars were controlled by IPod apps, and had small cameras on the front so that their owners could see where they were going without being in the same room as them. The young men took out their IPods, and Sweden set a ten-second timer on his own before firing up his driving app.

"On th' timer's mark."

The timer gave a shrill ring like an old-fashioned alarm clock and the little cars sped off. Germany was slightly ahead as they whipped around the first corner, heading for the stairwell that led to the first floor. Not willing to let Germany start pulling ahead so early in the game, Sweden deliberately sideswiped him.

"Wh-what the—" Germany mumbled as his camera's field of vision was jostled from the impact. That's when he noticed the sideways flick of Sweden's thumb as he executed another sideswipe, a mischievous little grin on his normally inexpressive lips. "Hmph, so that's how you want to play, is it?"

Germany rammed Sweden in retaliation towards the wall and put on another burst of speed. Sweden cursed quietly under his breath in his native language when his car's wheels clipped the wall, causing him to spin out spectacularly. Germany couldn't quite bite back a gloating snort as he sped by, putting more distance between them. He had nearly reached the staircase.

Gritting his teeth, Sweden tried to speed up a bit more to make up for lost ground. Meanwhile, Germany had zoomed over the top stair and was in a moment of free fall. That was when disaster struck; his car landed at a bad angle and ended up summersaulting down the stairs. He swore to himself, hoping that he would at least land right-way up. He glanced over at his northern companion to see how his vehicle was handling the stairs. As his camera couldn't see Sweden's car with his camera at the moment, he couldn't tell exactly what Sweden was doing, but he could tell from the video footage on Sweden's screen that he was somehow coasting down smoothly.

"How on earth are you—" Germany began, but he stopped abruptly in shock as his still-summersaulting camera finally caught a glimpse of Sweden's car. "Is that… Is that a hang-gliding function?!"

The light caught Sweden's glasses triumphantly, and that was the only response he gave. Germany's car landed at the bottom of the stairs at last, upside-down, its wheels spinning helplessly. Sweden's car touched down gently next to it.

"S' sad when that happens," Sweden commented upon seeing Germany's predicament, not sounding the least bit sad. In fact, he might have even laughed (it was hard for Germany to tell sometimes).

Germany snarled in frustration, rushing toward the stairwell to right his car manually. At that moment, however, a passing intern tripped over Germany's car, kicking it right-side-up in the process. Germany put on a burst of speed, knowing it would take a miracle for him to catch up to Sweden now. He could just barely make out his car several meters ahead of his. He backed distractedly into the meeting room where Sweden was still standing with his IPod.

Sweden's heart was pounding. The blue vase they had chosen as their finish point was within view. There was just one door and a stretch of hallway separating him from his goal. This was it, he was going to win!

At that moment, the door between him and the vase flew open and a long stampede of shins attached to shiny business dress shoes flooded his field of vision. Apparently a meeting had just let out. Sweden let out a groan of frustration. If these people didn't hurry up and get out of his way, Germany would catch up to him!

Germany, for his part, was silently rejoicing. This was just the break he'd been hoping for. Now he might actually have a chance. There were only a hundred or so centimeters between the two of them now. Suddenly both men let out shouts of confusion and surprise when their cameras' fields of vision indicated that their cars were both being lifted into the air. Their hearts sank when a middle-aged man's face appeared before both of them, examining the cars with an irritated expression before locating the shiny little camera lenses in the grilles of the cars.

Ambassador Carlsson was not a particularly stern looking man in general, but he could put on quite the forbidding expression when the need presented itself. Apparently his meeting, which was supposed to have been held on the third floor had been relocated to the first, and right now he was aiming that stern gaze right into their cameras, shaking his finger disapprovingly at them.

Sweden and Germany traded nervous glances.

"Oops," Germany mumbled, reddening at the thought of having to apologize for something so childish.

"Busted," Sweden grunted, scratching the back of his neck in a similar show of embarrassment.

The two of them sighed and switched off their IPods, slipping them back into their pockets.

"I suppose we both need to go and apologize," Germany sighed, "but who's going to explain?"

Sweden hesitated for a moment in thought, then held out his fist, indicating that he wanted to play rock, paper, scissors to decide. The match occurred in silence and Germany lost. Sweden did a noiseless victory fist-pump as Germany clicked his tongue in irritation at his loss.

"Shall we call this race a draw, then?" he asked as the two of them began to head down the stairs.

"S'ppose," Sweden conceded. He was silent for another moment before saying, "Rematch at our next meeting?"

Germany smirked. "You're on."


End file.
